CHAPTER XV. LAWRENCE PROPHESIES AGAIN.

The puzzled and slightly dissatisfied audience poured out of the inquest hall with a feeling that they had been defrauded. There was no chance of a verdict of murder against Bruce after the last two bits of startling and quite unexpected evidence. Two credible witnesses had proved that one of the people who had called Bruce to the corner house had remained after he had left. The case was just as fascinating, and at the same time as puzzling as ever. The real culprit as yet might have to be found, but there was no getting away from these facts about the stolen banknotes. Still, the coroner's jury were not called to try that question, and at the suggestion of Prout the matter was adjourned for a month.

Bruce was allowed to take his own way, a result he had not confidently expected. The vulgar curiosity of the passing crowd annoyed him. Standing outside the vestry hall was a carriage and a pair of horses. Leona Lalage, seated inside, smiled brilliantly on Bruce and his companion, and the footman opened the door.

"I managed to get inside," the Countess said. "Did anybody ever hear so foolish a fuss? And that silly juryman!"

"I am afraid I should have shared his opinion under similar circumstances," said Bruce. "You see my guilt----"

"I shall not listen to a word of it," the Countess cried. "The mere suggestion is revolting to one's common sense. Fancy you committing a vulgar crime like that! Jump in, and let us get away from this awful crowd. Where shall I drive you?"

It was all the same to Hetty so long as she got away from the insolent people. They must go back and have tea at Lytton Avenue. There would be nobody present, and the Countess would not be at home to anybody. Nothing could be sweeter or more sympathetic than her manner.

To lounge there in that dimly-lighted and perfectly appointed room was soothing and restful. Bruce carried his head a little higher as he made his way home.

There was a smell of tobacco in his room and a vision of Lawrence with his heels on the mantelpiece smoking a cigarette. He was looking at a paragraph in an early edition of the Globe that seemed to give him satisfaction.

"So you've got back," he said. "Rather a sensational bit of copy for the papers over the inquest, eh? That pompous juryman's face was a study when Hetty and that reporter chap knocked him out of time."

"I didn't see you," said Bruce.

"All the same I was there all the time. I fetched the Countess Lalage in. As I entered I bought a copy of the Globe. The first thing that took my eye was the very strange advertisement inside by the theatrical notices."

Bruce glanced carelessly at the paragraph. Then his eye brightened. It ran as follows:

"Danger.--The danger lies in the second floor back bedroom of the corner house.--Z."

"Toujours the corner house," Bruce cried. "What do you make of it?"

Lawrence looked at his friend with a twinkle.

"I'll tell you my opinion later on," he said. "I think that after an exhibition of my marvellous powers, you can safely leave the matter to me. Should you like to have a little bit of an adventure this evening?"

Bruce replied that he was just in the frame of mind for something of the kind. He was far too restless to settle down to anything.

"It may be lively and it may be the reverse," said Lawrence, "but it is nothing more or less than an hour or two spent in the corner house. We are going there after ten, and I prophesy that we shall catch something; if we are very lucky it may be the being with the secret."

"In other words you propose to drag my unlucky self into house-breaking?"

"Nothing of the kind. I have procured the key to the back part of the premises from Prout, who has the profoundest respect for my sagacity. When I pointed out that notice in the Globe to him he proposed to have the house watched, which is so like a policeman's intellect."

It was a little past ten when the two friends set out upon their errand. There was nothing of note until the house was reached. The blinds were all closely drawn, so that the adventurers had to grope their way from room to room, the suggestion of a light being out of the question.

"We'll sit in the hall," said Lawrence. "We'll take it for granted that the owner is a hospitable man, and permit ourselves the luxury of tobacco."

It was a long and weary vigil, and when the clock struck midnight Bruce heartily wished himself out of it. It was a strain on the nerves, too, sitting in that dark silent house waiting for something that might not come. Lawrence did not usually display any bulldog qualities, but he sat on grimly now.

The traffic grew quieter, only a solitary pedestrian or a tramping policeman passed the house. Then came a firm footstep that paused before the house, with a suggestion of listening or waiting for someone on the part of the wayfarer.

Bruce's heart beat a little faster as he heard a scuffling on the step and the muffled rattle of a latchkey in the door. There was a breath of welcome fresh air in the stuffy place, the impact of two bodies, and Lawrence rushed upon the newcomer. There was a muttered curse and a fall.

"Got him," Lawrence cried. "I knew we should. Or he's got me. Light the gas, Gordon; we'll have to risk it this time."

Bruce fumbled for the bracket, and found it at length. There was a flaring rush and then dazed eyes made out a tall man with a pair of blazing angry dark eyes, and a beard quivering with rage.

"Come my man, what's your name?" Lawrence panted.

"My name, sir," said the other coolly and clearly, "is Mr. Garrett Charlton, the owner of this house. And who are you?"